A Mirror Darkly
by syrabyrde
Summary: Hermione went back to Hogwarts to teach, thinking it wouldn't be an adventure. How foolish of her. Now she finds herself in an alternate dimension, where things aren't... *quite* the story she's used to. In the gaps, maybe she can find the space for all sorts of things she wasn't expecting. -RL/HG is the plan but I might veer into SS/HG depending on my mood; M for (tasteful) smut
1. Chapter 1

A.N. Hi everyone. I am thinking of writing a new thing, because I need a writing outlet that is just purely for fun and has no stakes. I can't make any promises about how long it will be or how quickly it will be done, but I can promise to only put up things that are fun to write and hopefully therefore fun to read. Writing my last one was really useful for me as a writer, so I'm thinking this could be helpful too.

This is sort of a teaser intro, the rest of the scene to be picked up in a proper full first chapter. I wanted to get a foot in the door with tone and concept. What do we think?

* * *

Chapter One

Humans have an inherent desire, when confronted with something new and strange, to poke it with a stick.

In many cases this is metaphorical. They investigate. They prompt reactions, they find out how things work, they use their highest cognitive faculties to divine the mysteries of the universe.

Unfortunately for Hermione Granger, she was human. Even more unfortunately, the stick and the poking were very literal.

So it was that, in the summer before her third year as teacher of Charms at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, upon opening a mysterious panel she had discovered at the back of a castle wardrobe only to discover an even more mysterious statuette of a hooded witch, Hermione reached out and tapped the statuette with the tip of her wand.

Stick. Poke.

She knew almost immediately that she had made a mistake. As the wardrobe dissolved around her, and the world went dark, the thought that she was only falling victim to a classic consequence met sooner or later by humans, most cats, and anyone else with a desire to _know_ things was unlikely to have comforted her. Curiosity killed the Hermione.

Happily, Hermione was far too practical to be worrying down this philosophical line of thought in the moments after her wand touched the statuette. She was busy panicking.

After that, she was busy, briefly, being nothing at all.

…

Hermione awoke some time later to find herself, of all places, inside of a Hogwarts wardrobe, facing a half-open panel and a small statuette.

Feeling that she might be pushing her luck, she reached out her wand to poke the statue a second time. When this produced no reaction at all, Hermione released a breath she had not realized she'd been holding, and she sank back against the wall of the wardrobe in relief.

Once she had calmed and felt something like normal again, it was a matter of moments to pick herself up, dust off her robes, and shove the statuette into a pocket for later investigation. In the meantime, she ought to get herself to the hospital wing to figure out what had just happened. Because if nothing was going on now with the statue, then perhaps something had been going on with her _head_ the first time.

She was rounding a corner on the fifth floor when her skin went cold and her stomach sank and something really _extremely strange indeed_ happened for the second time so far that day.

Hermione stopped dead, and the strangeness in question stopped and stared right back at her. He was carrying a stack of books, and he had been walking at quite a determined pace, so this meant that he almost teetered on his feet as he caught himself short to look at her oddly. Half-bewildered, half-accusing.

Hermione's heart had started again, as her eyes traveled over every inch of the wizard's face, and she managed a croak: "Remus?"

At this, the man's brows came down, inquiry turning to confusion. "Sorry," he said, "Do I know you?"

Hermione could only gape.

"And how did you get in here?" Remus added, a note of irritation coming through. "This part of the Castle is out-of-bounds until term begins."


	2. Chapter 2

A.N. I may not even call these "Chapters" because they're such short snippets, but this is the rate that is manageable with my crazy work schedule right now, so it'll likely be smaller chunks like this. Until I build up to any really long important scenes ;) I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

* * *

"Out-of-bounds un-" Hermione caught herself, feeling that to ask about _that_, when the options available to her included a wizard risen from the dead, would be absurd. She put out a hand, as if to take his arm, though he shrank away slightly. "Remus. Perhaps we'd better go talk to Minerva."

Remus's eyebrows rose. "A name I recognize. I'll grant you that. Did she let you in? Let's head to Transfiguration, then, and you can tell me all about it on the way. I'd really rather we didn't linger here. There's a baby chimaera sleeping down the hall and Albus will have my hide if we wake it up."

He was already starting off down the hall, and Hermione's expression of bewilderment beyond words was therefore lost on him. She hurried to keep up. "A-Albus? Why don't—why don't we head towards the Headmaster's office, then?" Remus was clearly very confused. Hermione reasoned that finding McGonagall in the Headmistress's office would be, at best, a step towards reorienting the man. At worst, McGonagall could help Hermione keep things calm until they could get Remus to St. Mungo's to find out what in the bloody hells was happening.

Remus had cast a bit of a hard look over Hermione. "I thought you wanted to speak to Minerva?" But he turned, as they reached the staircase, onto the steps that would take them to the Headmaster's office.

"Albus is fine," Hermione managed. She was walking behind Remus now, and she found that she couldn't tear her eyes away from the back of his head. She was drinking in every detail, almost as if she might diagnose him herself. He seemed younger than she remembered. Or, not exactly that. Healthier, maybe, and more vibrant. There was an energy in him that she was not used to. Maybe the reanimated dead were always surprisingly energetic, though.

He eyed her as they reached the next landing and Hermione began walking beside him again. "Can I ask how you know my name? And who you are? I'm gathering you'd rather not tell me yet why you were up there."

Hermione blinked. "Do you really not-" but she cut herself off. Of course he really didn't recognize her, otherwise he wouldn't be saying so. But there was no use upsetting him, when he would have no one's word but hers yet for what was going on. "I'm Hermione," she tried instead. "We knew each other years ago, but you've apparently forgotten. I'm wondering if there's a magical reason you've forgotten, actually. But I suppose we'll find out."

He frowned at her but, after a moment or two, shrugged. "Alright. Nice to meet you, Hermione." They were reaching the gargoyle that hid their destination now, and Remus stepped aside to let Hermione go first. "Perhaps Albus can shed some light on whatever magic you're worried about. Sugar quills."

To Hermione's deep surprise, the gargoyle sprang to life at Remus's last words, revealing the staircase upwards.

To Hermione's deeper surprise, when they reached the door at the top of the stairs, Remus pushed it open to reveal an office that contained not the mahogany furniture, piled books, and Minerva McGonagall that she was expecting, but, rather, an all too familiar set of silver instruments all about the room, a drowsy phoenix, and one Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore showed every sign of being as confoundingly alive and real as Remus was. He even stood up, at the sight of them, and walked over to the doorway with a Dumbledore twinkle in his eye that Hermione had not seen in over five years but which hit her somewhere in the chest with warmth, and sadness, and-

"You'll pardon me," Dumbledore said, "But I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance. Albus Dumbledore." Hermione somehow, mutely, shook the hand he offered her, as he continued, "Remus, who is this charming visitor, and why do you both look concerned?"

"Well," said Remus, "I can't speak for her, but I found her near the chimaera room." Dumbledore frowned at this. "And she seemed a bit off. I thought I'd come straight to you."

"Did you?" said Dumbledore, with an amusement Hermione didn't understand.

Remus shifted on his feet for a long moment. "I _know_," he finally said, "that I probably ought to have gone to the _official_ teacher on duty for the day for anything involving that floor, I've been at the meetings, you don't have to tell me twice. But Albus." His voice had a pleading note in it. "It's _Severus_. And you _saw_ him at breakfast."

Hermione must have made some noise, during all this, for she now found both men were quite suddenly looking at her. "Nothing," she said. "Sorry." The room then decided, apparently, to sway around her, just a bit. "Sorry. It's just that, I think I'll need to sit down."

...

Eight hours later found Hermione sitting in the hospital wing, sipping from a steaming mug of tea, while a much graver Albus Dumbledore and a much more bewildered Remus Lupin sat facing her. Albus had had her walk through her entire story, twice. Then he had walked her through _his_ story. As it happened, missing deaths were not the only strangeness currently at work. Many things were just slightly different—Bill Weasley, for example, apparently worked as an Auror rather than at Gringotts. Other things were extremely different. Hermione, for example, apparently did not exist. It was at this point that Hermione had begun to use the words _alternate timeline_. And also to weep, just slightly, but she got over that quite quickly and Albus and Remus were very polite about it. In any case, she had never heard of magic that could accomplish such a thing as an alternate timeline. But she read books.

Oh, and another small difference. Harry Potter was of no importance to anyone. When Hermione had asked about him, fearing the worst, she had received blank, mild looks from both Albus and Remus.

The Boy Who Lived, they informed her, and the Chosen One in his turn, was one Neville Longbottom. He had defeated Voldemort several years previously with his closest friends, Susan Bones and Dean Thomas. They were collectively known in the wizard media as "the Golden Trio."

Hermione had, around this point, needed to once again sit down. Remus had produced some chocolate from nowhere, which she had gratefully eaten while staring off into the middle distance trying to compute even a fraction of where she was and how any of this could have happened. Then they had all decamped to the hospital wing to, as Dumbledore had put it, "just have a bit of a check that your brain isn't off with the hinkypunks."

And Madame Pomfrey had, just now, returned with some final results. These confirmed that Hermione was, as far as the witch could tell with the means available on short notice, in perfect health.

Hermione was dreadfully worried that they were about to consult Snape next. She was still having trouble reconciling the normal act of drinking tea with the fact that Remus Lupin was sitting right there, running his hands through his hair so that it stuck up all over—he really needed to stop that, it made Hermione want to fix it—and staring at her because he had no idea who she was. She was in no state to handle _Snape_.

Happily, Dumbledore said nothing about that. Instead, what he said was, "I understand that you've had quite a day, Miss Granger, and a shock. So do take your time to consider. But when you're feeling a bit better, as a stop-gap for however long it takes us to unravel this _fascinating_ case—well, what I mean to say is this. How would you like to interview for a job?"


	3. Chapter 3

A.N. Sorry for the crazy delay, gang, lockdown has been... less than fun. As I said, though, I do intend to keep updating this sporadically because it makes me happy!

Thank you so much for the lovely feedback; all comments, reviews, favourites, and follows are deeply appreciated, as knowing that people enjoy it is what keeps me writing :)

As for story notes-I wanted to get a solid sense of some of our main players, so it's a little bit of a character study/brief vignettes "chapter." Hope you don't mind!

Chapter Three

"And then the attendance slips just go into this drawer here," Remus finished, pointing his wand at the end of the cabinet in the faculty room. "Easy enough. What's wrong?"

Hermione was shaking her head. "Sorry. Nothing. It's just—that's supposed to be the drawer of spare quills, and I'm used to attendance slips going-" She cut herself off, running hands through her hair in irritation. "Sorry. I'll get used to it."

Remus was looking at her with an odd, quirked smile. "This is very strange to me too, if it helps. Half the time, I'm giving you a tour of things you seem to know better than I do."

Hermione shrugged. "Don't be silly, I could never know Hogwarts like you do, just from the Marauders' Map alone. I'm never going to really know this place, not like that."

There was silence for a beat, as Remus's eyes widened. "And then," he added, "you keep saying terrifying things like that, that remind me that you might know _me_ better than I do."

Hermione gave him a rueful look. "Sorry."

"Don't be. It's fascinating."

"I'm moving up in the ranks from 'strange,' then."

"Oh no." Remus was rummaging among the papers, and when he turned back it was with a face full of mischief. "You're still _extremely_ strange."

And now Hermione was grinning too. "Thanks." This Remus was, she had been realizing in the past few days, different in ways that ran deep. He was _lighter_ than the Remus she knew. Less tragedy, and the crinkles beside his eyes were more of merriment than pain. It was infectious, she'd found. And she could entirely see how this Remus Lupin had been one of the Marauders.

"You're welcome," he said, and then his hand was around her arm, pulling her gently after him. "Come on, I'll show you your classroom."

He was also _touchier_ than the Remus she remembered. She had yet to get a read on that. Not that she was paying it special attention, or anything.

"Noble of you," she managed as they made their way down the hall. "Don't know how I'd ever find the Charms classroom on my own."

"That's me. Endlessly generous. And anyway," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "I desperately want to be there when you first meet Snape. And a little birdy informed me that he's back full-time for term now. Getting his classroom ready. Roaming the halls."

"Was the little birdy's name Albus?"

"It might have been."

Hermione pursed her lips. "He ought to know, then. Drat. I just… Merlin, Remus. Snape is so _complicated_."

"Is he?" Remus was walking backwards now, the better to look at her doubtfully. He could do that thing where he raised just one eyebrow. Not that Hermione kept noticing.

"Well, yes. He… alright, look. If I tell you something, can you keep it to yourself?" Hermione had stopped, gesturing Remus to a bit of an alcove beside a suit of armor.

Remus's eyes were sparkling as he leaned in. "Hermione, are you asking me if I can keep a secret? _Me?_"

She tilted her chin up at him. "In _my_ world, you did a very poor job of keeping the whole werewolf thing a secret. That's why you had to leave after only a year. Come to think of it, Snape was the one who outed you. After you tried to eat me and Harry and Ron. It was a whole thing. I had you figured out within a few months though, even before that."

Remus was blinking rapidly. "Hold on. Hold on. Setting aside the attack thing—I don't _eat_ people Hermione, there's a big difference between _eating_ someone and _biting_ someone—"

"Is there?"

"_Yes_," said Remus, "there _is_."

And at the look on his face, Hermione found herself flushing. She hadn't meant biting someone like _that_. Or _eating _someone like—well. Judging from the smirk Remus was just about failing to conceal, he was following every stage of her thought process. "Setting aside the attack?" she managed. "You said?"

"Oh. Yeah. Just that Snape is a git. In every world, apparently."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I know. That's just it, though. Remus, in my world Snape is dead."

He let out a long breath. "Merlin. You're really gloomy, you know that? Who _isn't_ dead in your world?"

Hermione sniffed. "Professor Flitwick, for one thing."

"You're really stuck on that, aren't you? I'm sorry I told you."

"He was my _teacher_."

"_I_ was your teacher, too."

"And I was distraught when you died." That had come out more seriously than Hermione intended. Remus was looking down at her, something like surprise in his face. His eyes, Hermione couldn't help noticing, were not the brown she'd always thought they were. They were hazel, warm and—and she was standing too close to him. She shifted back.

"That's nice to hear," Remus said. "Sorry. I don't know how to process the whole death thing. It's been five years, since the war. A little more, I suppose. It feels like a lifetime ago. Different me. Different life."

That hurt. Not that Remus realized it. But it hurt to think about a _different life_. She was working very hard not to, at the moment. Nothing to be done. Get on with the job.

His face had softened. "Was that all you wanted to tell me?" he asked. "About Snape?"

"Oh. No." She took a deep breath. "It's not just that he's dead. Lots of people are dead. Brutal as that is to say."

Remus's mouth quirked. "You either laugh or you cry."

She nodded, thankful that he understood. "Yeah. But Snape—Remus, he was a _hero_. He gave his life trying to protect all of us. To protect Harry."

Remus's eyes were wide as saucers. "So… you're worried about seeing your hero again?"

"No. That's just it. Remus, he's—I can't _stand_ him. He's a bully. He made me cry, growing up, all the time. He's—he's self-involved, pig-headed, immature, _nauseatingly_ dreary, and utterly lacking in empathy for someone who's meant to teach children."

Remus let out a low whistle. "You forgot greasy."

"And _greasy_. But despite all of those things, he _died_ for us. Don't you see the problem?"

Remus was frowning. "You feel like you need to like him. Like you owe him, since you know what he's capable of?"

Hermione nodded.

Remus squeezed her shoulder. "You're forgetting the key thing, Hermione."

"What's that?"

"_This_ Snape hasn't died for you at all. Sure he put his life on the line during the war. So did a lot of us—just look at your world. Over here, though, Snape is a greasy, mean git who's never done anything for you personally. A fresh leaf."

"So you think it's alright to hate him?"

Remus grinned. "I will start to seriously question your good judgment if you don't."

Hermione smiled. She didn't feel entirely convinced, though. Surely the people she knew here still merited the same feeling as their selves from her normal life—from _real_ life. Surely they were the same, in all the ways that counted. Weren't they?

Another thing she was working hard not to think about.

…

She had just about let her guard down, and Remus had just about given up his hopes of playing audience, when they did run into the greasy git in question. They had made it back to the faculty room, and Hermione had just let Remus talk her into a game of gobstones—it wasn't as if she had something better to be doing, like arranging her classroom or panicking about the scattered ruins of her normal life. Remus was laughing over something she'd said, and she was feeling warm to have, amid everything, an easy moment like this. There would be plenty of time to get back to brooding, research, the big picture. She had sent owls to key staff at the Ministry days ago, who had forwarded her queries to the Department of Mysteries. The Unspeakables had told her they would get back to her, and that she should "go on as usual" until they did. Whatever the hell that meant.

And so she was sitting with Remus, playing gobstones, and enjoying the fact that she felt less like she was suffocating here with him than she did alone.

Then the door creaked open, and with a flutter and a sweeping of black robes, Hermione's attention was drawn from Remus's grin to the pale and looming face of one Severus Snape.

A gobstone slipped from her hand and rattled on the surface of the table.

Snape, taken aback, seemed to be staring at her staring at him. In the silence, Remus turned in his chair. "Severus! Have you met our newest addition to staff?"

Snape almost flinched at Remus's hearty tone. "No. Granger, is it? Charms? A _visiting_ lecturer, Albus said?" Hermione was nodding, shooting to her feet to shake his hand. "Severus Snape," he declared. "Potions master."

The words "I know" died on her lips. Of course he was proud of the _master_ part. "A pleasure," she said instead. And now that her heart had slowed down, it was her turn to wonder why _Snape_ was staring at _her_.

And why he looked so young, and so—petulant, sort of. Less tired and more haughty. There was something different about his eyebrows. And now she was staring again.

"How are—" she began, just as Snape said, "Dumbledore—" and they both stopped. Hermione nodded for him to continue.

"Dumbledore," he said carefully, "told me. About your situation. Professor Granger. He seemed to think I could be of some use to you, given the—er, the artifact you were interested in." He was looking sideways at Lupin as he spoke, apparently trying to make himself clear to Hermione without revealing anything of her situation to other man. Quite polite, really.

"Do you mean the statuette of the witch?" Lupin asked helpfully. "Since when are you an expert in alternate worlds or dimensional magic, Severus?"

"I imagine," Hermione said softly, "that it's more that Dumbledore suspects that there's _dark_ magic involved. Is that right?"

Snape looked at her for a moment, then nodded.

"Ah." Lupin's eyebrows had risen. "Well. I imagine Severus _will_ be quite helpful, then. Though I have to say, Dumbledore could've asked you before spreading around news of your situation. You wouldn't want just any random people to start finding out."

"Yes," drawled Snape, "it could be quite a problem if faculty who had no expertise at all were to know. They might start contributing opinions that are of no use to anyone."

And there was the Snape she knew. "Yes," said Hermione, "it would be irritating if that happened. I'm more worried, though, about people outside Hogwarts. I'd like to control when and how I meet the people I'm supposed to be close with. _If_ I meet the people I'm supposed to be close with." Like Harry. Her mind could barely breathe the name _Ron_.

Remus cleared his throat, eyeing her expression. "Anyway. Didn't you send the figure to the Ministry, Hermione?"

"Yes." Hermione tried to look apologetic. "Sorry, Severus, I thought Albus would have told you. The Unspeakables are looking at it, and it could be weeks before they send it back, for all I know."

"Ah." Snape shifted on his feet. "I'm the bearer of… happy news, then. It arrived back this morning. It's sitting up on Albus's desk as we speak."

Hermione shot to her feet, feeling as if she'd been gut-punched. Could it-

"And," Snape continued, "I'm afraid that, as far as they were able to tell, it's nothing more special than a decoratively carved piece of stone."


	4. Chapter 4

A.N. Another short chapter, starting to build in some important elements.

As always, I love to hear what you all think-knowing people enjoy these keeps my poor shriveled heart beating-in other words, thank you for any reviews, followers, favorites, etc. :)

Hope you all like this one! I will probably toddle back over to Snape in the next chapter. I genuinely haven't decided yet if Snape is gonna be a romantic conflict or not; at the moment, however, I was very much feeling the lack of a warm and handsome werewolf, and decided to let Hermione have what we cannot :'|

* * *

The Ministry hadn't helped. Hermione didn't know why that surprised her; it wasn't as if the Ministry had ever really come through before. That was why she hadn't wanted to work there, in the end—bureaucracy and competition were the order of the day at the Ministry, far more than actually helping people. At Hogwarts she had had the freedom to pursue research and write about important ideas, while actually doing something positive on a daily basis—expanding young minds, bringing out the best in each of them, and showing that, yes, the muggle-born _could_ be the most brilliant and awe-inspiring of their teachers.

She supposed she could still do all of those things here, in this world. Her research now, though, would narrow to a single topic—what had happened to her, and how to get herself home. She didn't know what else she could do.

Dumbledore had been nothing but sympathy about the Ministry's failure. She had practically run to his office once Snape had told her about the statue's return. Dumbledore had been waiting for her, twinkling away with calm regret. He had offered her all of the Castle's not inconsiderable facilities to help with her investigation. He was being so generous, for someone who had never actually known Hermione Granger, that she almost suspected he was up to something. Something beyond securing some talented, if temporary, staff. Not that she had any idea what the something could be.

And so here she was. Teaching Charms during the day, to students she eerily half-knew. The evenings she spent with a growing pile of books, borrowed from the library and mailed in, in one case, from an interested Unspeakable. She had several lines of research: learning more about dimensional magic, which all seemed to be theoretical; looking into what the witch statuette might relate to, in its composition or its history; and researching what artifacts with unusual powers might have made their way into Hogwarts to end up in that innocuous wardrobe.

She wasn't making much progress. Everything seemed equally _possibly_ relevant. The only thing progressing, in fact, was the degree to which her posture was matching the slumped pile of the books spread out before her.

This was the state of things when a knock sounded at the door to her rooms. She peeled herself off of the desk and went to answer it.

Remus stood there, looking far too bright-eyed for a Wednesday afternoon.

"How's the reading going?"

Hermione only looked at him glumly, conscious of the dark circles under her eyes and the wildness of her hair.

He smiled, then, a mischievous kind of smile that was much more typical for this world's Remus. If he were a wolf at the moment, he'd be wagging his tail. "What would you say to a break?"

She sighed. "What kind of break?"

"Dinner. You do have to feed yourself. Escape down to Hogsmeade with me? It's," and he looked a touch apologetic, "pizza night at the Three Broomsticks."

Hermione blinked. "Pizza night."

"Yes. _Muggle_ Pizza Night, to be specific." He grinned at her expression. "It's deeply exciting, I know. Rosmerta was saying something about _paparazzi_ and I'm fairly sure she meant _pepperoni_."

Hermione looked back at the books on her desk, and then at the hopeful wizard. "Well. Who am I to turn down the food of my people? It's been ages since I had a proper _paparazzi_ pizza."

…

The pizza was better than she had expected; which was to say that it was terrible, just not inedibly so. Remus pretended he was going to order his with pineapple, just to make her squawk with indignation until he ordered the much-anticipated pepperoni instead.

They were halfway through the most ordinary and relaxing meal she'd managed to have in days when Remus finally asked, more seriously, "How are you, though? Really? You've seemed—down, the deeper you get in the research."

Hermione flinched a little—how was this Remus perceptive, without knowing her?—and she put down her pizza. "I suppose I am down," she admitted. She thought about how much to say. "Not for any reason that can be helped. Just… missing people. People I can't really see here, because their not knowing me would be—too painful, I think. At least right now."

Remus nodded, a careful sort of expression on his face. "Family?"

Hermione frowned. "Not really. More friends." He looked interested, so she tried to go on. "It's a bit of a long story, but—well, my parents have been gone for a while." Happily off in Australia. In a way, this situation felt all too much like that one had. The people were still there, still happy. Just not hers. "But my friends, like Harry, and Ginny." She paused. "And Ron. Ron is—well, he was my boyfriend until about a week before I went through that wardrobe."

Remus was blinking. "Ron? Ron _Weasley?_"

"Yes?"

"Oh. Nothing." Remus was, if Hermione wasn't entirely mistaken, turning a bit red now. "I just—would not have picked him as your type. Is all." At her expression, he explained, "He's just a bit of a… jock."

Hermione laughed. "If you think _Ron_ is too much of a jock, you should have seen when I dated Victor Krum."

"Victor _Krum_?"

"Yes. That Victor Krum."

"Blimey." Remus's eyes were wide. "Well, I guess I take it back. Nothing wrong with having a type that's, er… Quidditch players."

She rolled her eyes. "That's _not_ my type, I promise. I mean, there's a reason Ron and I broke up. Or that he broke up with me, really." And that made her feel somber again, so she tried to force out something resembling a laugh. "Can you imagine breaking up with someone, only for them to vanish a week afterwards? I almost feel worse for Ron than I do for me, in all this."

Remus looked stricken. "Merlin. I'm so sorry, I hadn't thought about it like that. Do you—well, I imagine you're missing him a lot."

"Yes. Yes and no." She tried to choose her words carefully. "I wasn't in love with him, if that's what you mean. I'm not heartbroken to be torn from the man I loved, or feeling rejected. It's not like that at all. Ron and I were all wrong for each other, in the end. I'm just more stubborn than he is, as it turns out." She was twisting her fingers together, staring down at the knuckles as she worked out her feelings in speaking them. "It's more the lack of closure. It feels—cruel, almost, for it to be so unfinished. As if maybe there was something more to say, or maybe Ron will think I was mad at him when—when I disappeared. It's absurd to think I may never see him again. Do you know what I mean?"

Remus let out a long sigh. "That's tough." She watched as his hand came over to where hers were on the table, and he rested tentative fingers on the back of hers. Comfort, but carefully. "It also makes a lot of sense. I can—well, I can sort of relate. You know Tonks died at the Battle of Hogwarts, right?"

Hermione caught her breath. "I'm—yes, I did, but I hadn't realized. Oh, Remus, I didn't mean to compare Ron to your _wife_—"

He flinched. "_Wife?_"

They both stared at each other for a long moment, aghast. "Were you," Hermione ventured, finally, "not married here, then?"

Remus was shaking his head before she had even finished asking. "_No_. I was going to say that I had broken up with her not long before the Battle of Hogwarts. I felt… _deeply_ horrible about it, for a long time. Still do, if I'm being honest."

Now it was Hermione's turn to curl her fingers around Remus's. "It wasn't your fault."

He smiled, wryly. "Ending up in another world wasn't your fault, either."

"No," she agreed. "But it doesn't mean I don't miss Ron. And that the whole idea of him doesn't weigh on me. All the time."

"Yeah," said Remus. "Yeah." His hands were warm. They sat like that for what could have been a minute, or perhaps just a few seconds. Remus's expression was wide open, surprised at his own vulnerability. Or maybe Hermione was reading too much into it.

It was Hermione who finally pulled her hands away. "Shall we get more butterbeer? Thank you for getting me away from the Castle, by the way. I really needed this. Even," she smiled, "if the pizza was really _extremely_ bad."

"I mean… it was still pizza."

Hermione laughed. "Can't argue with that."

…

They walked up to the Castle after curfew, when all the students would be tucked away enough not to gossip over teachers wandering about together. Remus walked her to her rooms, less out of gallantry and more because they couldn't seem to finish their conversation. Something absurd about muggle food, but they had gotten in deep now and Hermione had chosen "pumpkin juice is fundamentally wrong" as her hill to die on, mostly because Remus's outrage was delicious.

They stopped in the corridor outside her rooms. Remus looked at her for a moment, still grinning about the pumpkin juice. Then he looked down at his shoes, as if struck by sudden bashfulness, and held his arms wide. "Hey. C'mere."

Hermione folded herself into Remus's hug. His shirt smelled warm, like clean cotton and man. Wizard. Werewolf. Whatever. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, and his arms were firm around her, and Hermione found herself blinking back the most unexpected pricking of tears. She felt so very _safe_, wrapped in Remus's embrace. She focused on that part of the feeling. Warm Remus and safe Remus.

Only when he'd walked off, leaving her alone at her door, was she forced to quietly admit the rest of the sensations now receding. _Close_ Remus. Remus who smelled heavenly, who made her want to bury her face under the edge of that jaw. Remus who was tall and broad and bit his lip sometimes when he smiled to himself, and who made her heart speed up in ways it hadn't in a long time. She didn't know if any of it was _this_ Remus specifically, or if she'd simply never paid Remus Lupin the attention he deserved. She couldn't help paying it now, couldn't help herself at all, every time he showed up.

And she was awash with guilt. Was it because of Ron? She didn't owe him anything, at least nothing beyond their friendship. Perhaps it was her research. She was fleeing this world as fast as she could. To—to want something or someone that belonged to it was a betrayal of her mission. And of that person. She couldn't give Remus anything. And even this Remus had been through so much. He deserved someone who could give him feelings that were real, someone that could be in the now and the here. Someone to fill the Tonks-shaped void in any of his existences.

Of course, he might not even want her back. This could be a moot little struggle existing only in her own head. It wouldn't be the first time.

But he did smell wonderful. And her heart was still beating traitorously overfast. And she felt like the very worst witch in the world. Whichever world.

She marched into her rooms, almost throwing herself back down at the desk and pulling the open book towards her. Back to work.


End file.
